


Frere (Brother)

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, MidnightSilver, Monk Castiel (Supernatural), Outlaw Dean Winchester, Outlaw Sam Winchester, Robin Hood References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Dean Loxley has lost his father and his lands, and is now a fugitive of the law, an enemy of the Sheriff. He goes by the pseudonym Robyn, and keeps watch over his former people from deep inside the thick Hunting Woods. Together with his loyal, snarky, bastard half-brother Sam Scarlet, and the jaded but good monk Frere Castiel Tuck, whose taste for wine and Sam make him a loyal friend indeed, he hatches a plan to save Marian Jo from a marriage to the Sheriff that she does not want.





	1. Frere (Artwork)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/gifts).
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by (sorceress) MidnightSilver


	2. Tuck

> _“Friar Tuck came close to Robin and plucked him by the sleeve. ‘Thou dost lead a merry life, good master,’ quoth he, ‘but dost thou not think it would be for the welfare of all your souls to have a good stout chaplain, such as I, to oversee holy matters? Truly, I do love this life mightily!’ At this, merry Robin Hood laughed amain, and bade him stay and become one of their band if he wished.”_

rere Tuck pulled his hood over his head and slipped his hands into his brown sleeves as he hurried away from the great manor. He smiled thinly to himself as he walked. The maiden's confessions were so boring as to be pitiful, but those of her serving staff contained a bit more...color. He came when beckoned by the maiden of the home, but he heard confessions of her whole house before leaving, and it was always worth the trip. Not to mention the fact that he earned a bottle of good red every time he did so. Marian Jo was a generous lady. It was a shame her mother kept her locked away from the world after her father passed under suspicious circumstances.

"Brother!" a voice called near the gate to the abbey. "Brother! Brother Castiel!"

He frowned. Very few called him by that name. Brother Castiel Tuck, of the Sherwood Abbey of St. Mary, and tireless servant of their Lord, was Frere Tuck to most in the region. "Brother?" he responded.

A very young cenobite looked up at him from the gates he was attempting to pass by. "You are not coming in?"

He bit back a sigh of irritation. "No, Brother Samandriel. I had thought to do some work among the lustful sots down in the pub."

This young man did not even know to snicker. "Yes, Brother Castiel. But a man by Will O'Winchester has been to see you."

Will O'Winchester. Castiel was thoughtful. That was one of Sam's aliases. Just as Will Scarlet was. Sam was here to see him? "Is he here now?"

"Yes, Brother."

He nodded. "Very well. I will see him. Go, and tell him to meet me along my walk."

Castiel continued his well-worn path, nodding at those few he met by the way, and anticipated Sam's footsteps as they fell into a rhythm alongside his own. He did not turn, but he smiled. "Hello, Will Scarlet."

"Frere Tuck," the friendly, quiet reply came.

"What brings you?"

"Do I need a reason to visit the most pious of the brethren who protect our souls? You are a monk, are you not?"

Castiel gave a small snort. "A poor example of one."

"I disagree. What other do you know who goes to where the lost souls are, who meets them in their place of sin? You are an angel among us."

He could no longer help himself. He turned to smile at the handsome young man. "Why are you here, Scarlet?"

"My brother the hero sent me."

Castiel nodded. Dean, living and thieving under the pseudonym Robyn of the Wood, was a hero as much as Castiel was an angel, and that was to say not at all. Sam had been quietly resentful of the man's standing in their family as "the real son" their whole lives, but Castiel knew he adored the older man. Their sire had claimed one but not the other, and Sam remained the illegitimate bastard of a wealthy but absent father. When the man had died and Dean had lost the land due to political moves beyond his control, it had put the brothers on mostly equal footing, especially when Dean had put his military training to use as a rogue. He had built up a band of huntsmen who lived in a small camp in the woods, and woe unto the unsuspecting traveler carrying a purse through the forest roads.

Dean had become something of a legend among the townspeople here, because he often shared his earnings with the populace, and his huntsmen brought meat to distribute to those less able to acquire it for themselves. Castiel knew Dean felt responsible for his father's people, even if they no longer were his.

But mostly, Robyn and his merry men lived bloody, drunken, sinful lives, and someone had to look after their souls. Castiel knew Dean was an excellent archer, but the monk had given him lessons in spirituality while also giving lessons to some of his men in use of a sword. That was how he had come to know and love Sam, their young Will Scarlet. He was the best swordsman, the most stunning fighter, and the most loyal follower Dean had, and so the leader never minded that his tongue was so sharp. In fact, Castiel suspected Dean treasured Sam for his wit and talent with a lute, and his friendship, just as much as for his sword arm.

"And what does our dear Robyn want with me today?"

Sam's voice was soft. "What does any hero want? He intends to slip in to call on his Lady Marian Jo. And he hopes to steal her away from her promise to the Sheriff."

"Is that all?" Castiel rolled his eyes. "I'll tell her to pack her trunk, then. Forgetting the sheriff, does the man not have a healthy fear of her mother?"

"One might think," Sam agreed.

"Anything else?" he asked in exasperation as they neared the destination his thirst had led him toward.

But Sam's strong arms were pulling him, not toward wine but to something far sweeter. He ducked them behind a set of trees. Then he smiled and placed soft lips on Castiel's own. The dark swordsman's shirt Sam wore beneath his scarlet hooded cloak crushed into his grip.

When at last they parted, Castiel had forgotten all about the need for wine, something which ached just beneath his skin at all times, replaced with something his heart ached for instead. "Sam," he breathed.

"Ah," Sam teased, kissing his nose gently. "Remember, in the town, it's Will. Only in the forests can I be Sam."

"Then only there can I feel whole. Tell Dean I will assist in any of his pursuits, even the one likely to get my head separated from my shoulders, if it means I remain welcome in the company of his men. In your company. I will see to the spiritual needs of his men and his own whimsy, if you will see to the needs of my heart."

"Come to me as the sun sets and I will."

Castiel sighed. “I would that I could simply stay in the sunset forever. In your arms, or listening to your lute, tasting heaven as it truly is, and not pursuing the bland Paradise we are promised.”

“Blasphemy, Frere?”

“Don’t call me that. You have a brother, and I am not he. I am your lover, and the one who will burn below for the love of you. Call me fallen. Call me damned. Call me yours.”

Sam’s eyes were dark with dangerous intent, but his kiss was gentle. “Be mine tonight,” he offered again. “Come to me, that I might come into you.”

The words made him shiver with want. “I will be there, and you know it. What will you do until then?”

The mischief in Sam’s grin was delicious. “I have business in town beyond pleasure. But you will be my pleasure when I’ve done my business, and I promise to be the architect to build your pleasure as well.”

“Architect?” Castiel smirked. “Not a poet this time? Nor a physician as the time before? You promise a different profession each night I spend with you. When will you give up the pretense and simply be the highwayman that you truly are?”

“Is that what you would have? A thug? A bandit? A merry robber? You deserve better than I am, and so I will be everything for you. What will I be that is worthy of you, sweet Castiel? What profession should I learn? I’ve never built a bridge, but I’ve walked across countless of them. How hard could it be? I haven’t plowed a field, but could it be so difficult when I eat fruit on the regular? I’m an expert in tailoring, you know, as I’ve worn clothes most of my life.”

He snorted. “Not when I have my way.”

“And I will give you your way tonight, but I’ll be on my way now, so I can hurry back to have my way with you.”

Castiel laughed finally. “If leaving draws you nearer, and brings the sunset faster, then go! All this time you spend chattering could be better spent kissing a glass of wine until that time which I can kiss you instead. Go! It’s no fault of mine if the sunset is late!”

“The sun sets at the interval allowed by the turn of the earth, and no faster nor slower depending on our own efficiency.”

“Prior Zachariah will tell you such a thing is nonsense, as the earth does not turn but lies in wait for the sun to turn around it.”

“Your elder may let the world pass around him, but the earth is not so lazy nor self-consumed. Tell Brother Zachariah to stand outside now and then. If he slept below the stars as I do, he would understand better how the earth travels. I myself find sleep evasive when I’m pining for my lover, and so I’ve become quite an astronomer.”

“Another occupation, I see. Unless you are accompanying me to the tavern, you should be on your way. I hear that the turn of the earth waits for no one. Go. My love goes with you.”

“And mine with you. Say the word, command it so, and I would skip my business and see only to your pleasure.”

Castiel smiled softly. Sam was an intolerable tease. He touched the man’s lips with his fingertips. “Say no such thing, when we both know whatever errand your brother has you on will always come first. I will await you.”

“It comes, not first, but more urgently, my love. You come first, and, with a little luck, I will come just after.”

The way Sam used his words in a twisting innuendo always left Castiel amused and a little breathless. He watched the young man pull his dark scarlet hood down to hide his eyes again, and slip away like a cat into the early evening. He returned to the road himself, and continued his walk toward the tavern alone. Wine was his vice, but Sam was his obsession, and he had no doubt for which he would descend upon his death.


	3. Merry

> _“Not only Robin himself, but all the band were outlaws, and dwelt apart from other men. Yet they were beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went away again with an empty fist.”_

ean gave out a hearty laugh that echoed against the trees.

His friend tossed him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “Why is it,” the large man drawled, “that we never compete by staves, but always by bows? Is it because you know I will win with my quarterstaff every time, but your bow is more accurate than mine?”

He shrugged and sauntered toward their target to retrieve his practice arrows. He would make more while sitting by the fire tonight, but there was no sense in wasting what he already had. “It’s not the accuracy of the bow more than the amount of skill which is better,” he teased. 

Benny huffed. “Trade me bows and see if we are not more evenly matched, brother!”

“I’d like to see you fight with staves,” a gruff voice muttered. “If anything will wipe the smugness from the face of our Prince, it would be the staff of Benny Little.”

“Cook, old man, then come match me yourself. Your aim is nearly as good as his. I’ll even lend you my bow.”

Bobby snorted and turned back to the stew. “A waste of my time unless you’d like to pick up a blade, Princeling.” 

It was Benny’s turn to laugh. “Why have you always called him that, old man? He’s no more a prince than I am a cleric!”

“He is a prince among thieves, and that’s a fact. Beyond that, should he ever choose to do anything more than play with his bow and annoy his good brother, he could be anything.”

Dean shrugged. “I choose the life I lead, and I choose the band I lead, and nothing more.”

“And that is why he remains a prince among thieves,” Bobby finished. 

Benny snickered. “Well, then, Prince Robyn, what would you have your vassals do next?”

Clever wickedness came over Dean’s eyes then, and he smiled coolly. “I have a scheme in mind,” he promised. 

“You always do.” There was a touch of awe in Benny’s tone. 

“For tonight, dear Little Benny, eat, drink and be merry. In the morning, I will ask your help in menacing the law of the land.”

The cook shook his head and tasted his stew with an air of indifference. “Son, what else is new?”

The laughter brought out Garth Much Millerson, who had been sleeping the day away inside a tent made of ill-matched fabrics. “Bobby? That dinner I smell?” he called. 

“Be it dinner for us or breakfast for you, either way, it’s going to need more firewood if it’s to cook right. Go fetch some.”

“Me?”

Dean watched his old mentor roll his eyes. “Aye, you! You, that’s been lazing away all the hours of every day since I knew him! Idiot boy! Go before I use you for kindling instead!”

As Garth hurried from the tent into the woods, Dean laughed after him. Then his eyes lit up. “Sammy! Come to join us then? I’d thought you’d decided to stay and settle as a respectable man in town!”

Sam Scarlet gave him a snort of humor. “And miss your pretty face getting hanged within the week? Where’s the fun in that?”

Dean’s eyes softened as he saw the quiet figure behind Sam, the monk of the nearby abbey. No wonder it had taken Sam longer on his errand than expected. “It’s less the face I risk and more the neck,” he murmured, “but faint heart never won fair lady.”

Sam stepped out of the thick wood into their small clearing, and embraced his brother quickly. “Have you never seen a hanging, dear Robyn? The face is far less pretty following than before. Even a face such as yours is not without its vulnerabilities.”

“And anyway, do you think this fair lady has a faint heart herself? Marian Jo will sooner stick your gut than give her hand.”

He grinned at Castiel. “I’m not the sheriff. She’ll have me. Or at least she won’t have him, and that would be worth being stuck. Should she prefer her maidenhood to either of us, I still would be content to know she was not forced into the arms of that pig, and I will gently kiss her goodbye.”

“The question was whether she would allow you to kiss her at all,” Benny reminded him dryly. 

“Her hand,” Dean insisted. “I shall kiss goodbye to her hand. If she wants neither him nor me, at least she wants not him! I will have saved her from that lonely coupling, and she may dismiss me as well, and I will be on my way.”

Sam was laughing at him, as usual. Was Sam ever not laughing? “Sir Robyn, my sword arm will be yours, and should I escape both the sheriff and the hangman, I will again hurry to your side with my lute, to serenade your love into accepting your heart, assuming, of course, it still lies in your chest, and not at the floor of the gallows. But I beg you not to blame her, nor especially me, if she were to fall instead for my own charms, since you dull beside me, as you must well know.”

Dean’s cackle echoed through the clearing. “I dull beside you? When I let slip that the charms of my brother are best suited to a brother, will she still find me dull in comparison?”

The friar grimaced at this implication. 

“I find you both dull!” Bobby snapped. “Dull, in both charm and mind, and in the pounding ache of my head. Continue your business elsewhere, you idiots, and let me have peace.”

“Can I help you, old man?”

“You are the only one I don’t want to toss into the stew, Benny Little. You stay and help me, since you’re the only one of any use.”

The brothers, and their clergyman friend, hurried away to a large deer hide tent Dean used for himself. 

Sam quieted upon entering. He smiled at Castiel, then turned to Dean. “I’ve told him your stupid plan,” he said without delay. “He will help you.”

Dean gave Castiel a beaming grin. “I knew he would.”

“Only because I am a fool,” the holy man groaned. “You two joke as though we do not intend to be killed, and rightfully so, by the sheriff. I don’t find it so funny as you. Perhaps it is because I know what awaits us after death, and you two pretend not to believe.”

“Oh, Sam believes. It’s why he has his fun now, because we will be hard-pressed to joke later.”

“Pressed, and burned, but both are worth the sins we enjoy today.” Sam touched the monk’s hand. “But if God can give me but a moment to explain, I would fill him with the good of you, and He may yet damn me for my filling of you with my love, but He will know you deserve only His grace and forgiveness. If He can give me but a moment, I will secure Heaven for you, and for my righteous brother, the hero, and I will thank Him for letting me burn in your steads.”

The adoration on the monk’s face was plain. “You have the silver, forked tongue of Lucifer, and yet I love you for its blasphemy. If anyone could talk Heaven’s gate open, it would be you, Sam Scarlet.”

“And I will sing ballads of my brother’s heroism and hymns of your holy heart, until God has heard enough and lets you both retire in Paradise.”

“It would be no Paradise without you, nor will Hell be Hell with you. You and I will be together in Purgatory until the day of judgment, my love.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I’ll be glad of it so I don’t have to hear either of you again! Now pay attention to the events at hand. No one is getting hanged, nor stabbed, nor anything of the sort. And here is the secret which I’ve wanted to tell you.”

Sam turned to him at last. “You have secrets from me? Are we not brothers, in blood if not name?”

“And am I not your soul’s confessor? What secrets have you from me?”

He threw his hands up. “I’m trying to tell you now! Don’t scold me for a secret I’m just about to tell you!”

“What is it then?”

“It is only this. Lady Ellen is inclined toward me, or at least against the sheriff.”

Sam frowned. He glanced at the monk’s narrowed eyes, then back at Dean. “How can that be? She arranged for this marriage herself!”

“She did what she had to do, under threat from the would-be usurper who stains the throne while the King plays at crusading, for God knows what purpose.”

Castiel nodded slowly, but Sam still looked confused. “What has the King’s brother to do with all this? He may dine with the sheriff in the palace, but he cares nothing about the matches and politics of our territory.”

“No,” Castiel said as he watched Dean’s eyes. “But he needs the support of men like our dear sheriff, exactly because he has no true claim to the throne unless his brother dies while soldiering for the Church. He can force Lady Harvelle in such a way that the sheriff cannot. So that ambitious Prince may have pushed for a union between young Marian Jo and the sheriff as a means of securing the lawman’s strength if opportunity arises to meet his ambitions.”

Dean tapped his nose to tell Castiel he was right on. 

Castiel frowned severely. “Marian Jo is in danger. I thought it only a disagreeable match, but if her mother has been forced into this promise, the maid is not safe. The sheriff does not need Lady Harvelle’s approval if it is commanded by the throne.”

Sam’s eyes darkened with loathing. “And it would be just like our old friend the sheriff to choose a maid exactly because it is a cruel choice, because she does not want him. I’m sure it pinks his cheeks to think of Marian Jo unhappy and even afraid, but helpless.”

“So Ellen has communicated to me her dislike of her daughter’s betrothed, in hopes I will cause mischief.”

“Which you will.”

“Which I must. The moment I learned of Jo’s engagement, I grieved in my heart, and consoled myself with daydreams of rescuing her. But it was not until Ellen sought me out that I learned that Jo is dreading the marriage too. Ellen is afraid that he may even harm Jo if she dared speak up against him, which she surely will. Even if she did as he pleased…”

Castiel swallowed hard and nodded. “He is much enamored of causing pain. He’s got a reputation at the brothels, but they cannot turn him away because of his status. I don’t wish that for Marian Jo, especially if she does not wish it for herself.”

Dean let his anger settle before speaking again. “It must be known only among us that Ellen reached out to me. We must make it seem to all that I am but a rogue that desires the maid for myself. I am that, and you know it, but the important thing is to steal her from the man whom she has been promised to, who we all know is a corrupt and murderous villain. If Jo wants to be stolen away from that promise, I will oblige happily. If, once she is safe, she then wants me, it will be my happiest hour. If not, it will simply be my proudest.”

“Do we mean to kill the sheriff?” Sam asked. 

“That depends greatly on the sheriff,” Dean snarled.


	4. Stars

am held his lover in a gentle grip, pressing into him with a slow, nearly lazy rhythm. Below Castiel’s knees lay a quilted blanket and Sam’s own cloak to soften the forest ground. He could hear the tiny helpless breaths coming from the monk’s wine-sweetened lips. Not that Castiel was helpless, not in any way but this one. His love for Sam was the only way in which the world-wise, shrewd monk was ever at any disadvantage. It was the only thing which weakened what Sam knew was an uncommon heartiness of body and mind. It was the greatest aphrodisiac of the universe to be the one who could lower a man like this to the ground and hold him there with calloused but soft hands and simple want. For Frere Tuck was a warrior as much as the King himself; more so, as the King fought from horseback among hundreds, while the good brother did his work at eye-level alone. But one clever smile from Sam left the poor soldier of God trembling, and that was glory like Sam had never seen in the Church.

He had already pulled a climax from Castiel tonight. But he wanted another. He wanted to feel his love break over the man, leave him gasping and sighing all at once. Leave him tender. Then pour himself into him at last, feel the way every part of him accepted every part of Sam. 

He whispered delicately into the monk’s ear, promising a long life of passion and love, a neverending torrent of gratitude. He saw the way Castiel let his head drop, panting quietly, could feel the way his muscles tensed everywhere. His hand stroked his lover with constance, relishing the way Castiel couldn’t help responding to his every movement. 

“Sam,” he sighed. 

“I will always love you,” Sam breathed in an urgent, almost frantic voice which betrayed the illusion of calm. Once Castiel had let his name slip out, his real name, it tore a protective layer from Sam’s heart. He so desperately loved this man. He had nothing to offer, nothing but himself, and it would never be enough. It strangled him badly, every night as he stared up at the stars, that there was nothing he could give to Castiel, nor anything the monk would ever accept anyway. Only his love. Sam felt desperate to express it, especially in moments like this, when Castiel was giving himself so completely. If his love was all Castiel would ever take, he would give it in a way which left no doubt. It was all he had, so it was what he gave, in every way he knew how. 

They shuddered through muffled orgasm together, and then came quiet petting and soft kisses, and all the things they both craved. Sam cleaned them both with a cloth and water from the spring, and lay with his lover’s head against his breast. He liked to let his fingers tease over the small wine belly Castiel hated so, if only to remind the monk that Sam loved every part of him. Castiel was not vain so much as struck by guilt regarding the roundness which harkened to his insobriety. It reminded Sam just that the holy man was yet only human, and for that he loved the extra patch of flesh. 

Besides, he liked to remind Castiel that the pain which had originally led to his thirst would never be able to return, not on his watch. For Castiel had not always been an abbey monk. He had seen things his brethren could never imagine, had been subjected to horrors that elder Zachariah would have found unbearable. He had worked in parts of the world where God had turned His gaze, and yet his own blue stare had remained steadfast and compassionate. Sometimes wine helped numb the memories of his work among the helpless and lost, but Castiel’s strength had been forged in these fires, and Sam knew the man had nothing to fear from Hell itself. He was a saint. His taste for wine and his taste for Sam would never change that. 

As though he could hear Sam’s thoughts, the holy man spoke after long moments of silence. “It’s been years since I walked the world. Years since I did any true good.”

Sam tipped his head to glance at him. “This is what my love brings to mind?”

A slight smile lifted from the quiet reflection. “That I have lived too long in grace I don’t deserve? Maybe.”

“You deserve anything good this life can give you, Cas.”

“I’m soft. My fat serves to remind me of my easy life, and of those who have too little, but here you are caressing it as though it were worthy of such affection. As if I were worthy of it. I should have returned to the world long ago. Living in an abbey is too easy.”

Sam knew it was no such thing, but he said nothing. 

“People suffer, Sam. I’m meant to reach out to them. Yet I lie here reaching only for you, and when I can’t have you, I reach for a bottle. Instead of seeking out lost souls, I lose myself in drunkenness and pleasures of the flesh.”

“I like your flesh.”

Castiel snorted a laugh. “I know that you do. That doesn’t absolve me of partaking of yours.”

Sam hummed quietly. “Except for very occasionally, it is I who partakes of you, and not the other way around. So a majority of the blame belongs with me.”

“And what of the wine?”

“If the Church truly disapproved of drink, it would not own so many orchards.”

This made Castiel laugh aloud. He turned to face his lover, lifting himself onto his elbow. His opposite hand stroked through Sam’s wayward mane with adoration. “Amidst my crisis of faith, you mock my Church?”

Sam lay back on his own free hand, and watched the stars. “It’s not your faith in crisis, Cas, and neither is the Church yours. You serve it because it gives you the means to serve God and humanity, not because you believe the dogma. If ever you did, you’ve grown above that now.”

“Above? Fallen below, more like.”

“You are not below the dogmatics, Castiel, who are below the lowest of dogs. Truly, I should listen to the wisdom of dogs with more curiosity than any cleric but you. The dogma of dogs must be fascinating in comparison to that of sons of bitches.”

Castiel’s grin was full of mischief. “Dogma has its place, Scarlet.”

“Yes, and I say we leave it there.”

Blue eyes shone with devotion. “Sam, you are the oddest creature, do you know that? You’re a man of contradictions, and you speak plainly while speaking in riddles. You twist your words so that nothing you say can be taken as simple truth, and yet you never bother to lie about anything.”

“How can you say that? My name changes by the season.”

“Aye, but you don’t. Beneath every Will or Charles or Alexander, beneath the Winchester or Scarlet or Bard, you’ve always been Sam and made no apologies for it.”

“How long since I last used Alex Bard? Maybe I should return to it. Or Kay Lander. There were good times when I was Kay.”

“We might call you Scoundrel and be done with it.”

“I prefer Rogue. It has a more noble sound to it.”

“There is nothing noble about rogues, Sam.”

He shrugged. “Very little noble about me either, so no harm done.”

“Besides,” Castiel continued stubbornly, “your other chosen names stemmed from somewhere. Scarlet.”

A smile hurried to cover the wince. “Let’s get back to your crisis and leave my own peculiarities alone for now.”

Castiel shook his head. “No. Let’s think of the stars and you holding me under them. These same stars have seen every part of us, each time we have made love, each time we quarreled, each time we crossed blades in practice. I’m weary, Sam. But I’m happy.”

His smile softened. “I’m glad, my love. For tomorrow we die at the whimsy of my brother the hero, and so it shall be the final time the stars see any of that.”

The monk sighed. “Indeed.” Then, after another moment of quiet, he spoke again. “I’m proud to die for your brother. His heart is what my Church should be. He means what he says, that he will save Marian Jo from a dark future and take nothing in return unless she gives it freely.”

“Don’t commend my brother too much for simply not being wicked. Of course he shouldn’t force anything upon her. That’s the entire point of the plot, that she’s being forced into arms she does not want.”

“He’s not just not wicked. He’s a good man.”

Sam turned to him again, and looked into his eyes. “Castiel? Do you think it is worth dying that he should save the free will of one girl?”

“I do. And I will die for it myself, if needs be.”

“Then one soul is worth whatever it takes to save it,” he pressed. 

“I believe that.”

Sam lifted himself to kiss his lover tenderly. “Then, Castiel, your work among us, saving our souls, is no less worthy for you either. It is the life which you have chosen, and you are a good man too.”

“Goodnight, Sam O’Winchester.”

“Goodnight, Frere Tuck.”

He stared up at those doting stars for hours after Castiel fell to sleep beside him. At last, he untangled himself from his lover, and covered him gently with the brown abbot cloak, then slipped into his own clothes and scarlet hood. 

“I love you, Cas. Forgive me if I choose to die without you. Forgive me if I choose to die instead of you. One soul is worth saving, and that’s true as anything I ever believed. Dean chose her. I choose you. If ever I can place myself between you and a reaper, Castiel, you know I will do it. So forgive me if I put my own free will to use, and try to prevent the ugliness which could befall every merry man Dean’s got, including you.”

The scarlet hood hid his face, and he made no sound, even on the dry leaves. But it was only a moment before an equal step joined him. 

He turned in alarm. “Benny?”

The large man shrugged. “Ain’t letting the old man and Garth ain’t-Much Millerson give up their ghosts for a girl that don’t want to marry. And you ain’t letting your monk die for it too. But it’s got to be done, so let’s go get it done, before those fools wake up and think to follow.”

Sam smiled grimly. “I’m killing the sheriff, you know.”

Benny sniffed. “I got no love for the law, and you got none for Sheriff Kendricks himself.”

“He’s done nothing but terrorize this region. Do you know he means to have a university built in his name? Kendricks Academy. I’ve no idea what sorts of things might be taught at such a place!”

“He reminds me of an old captain of mine. Brutal. Gluttonous. Always treated me like he made me himself, like I ought to be grateful, but what he did was steal me from my life and ruin me by putting me on his crew. Your brother put what was left of me back together, but I’ll never forget what that old man did to me. No sea storm was ever so dangerous as that old pirate.”

“What happened to him?”

“I took off his head in a fight. And like I say, Sheriff Kendricks reminds me of him.”

Sam nodded. “Then let’s do what we have to do before Dean and the others wake up and do what they feel they have to do.”

Benny gave a sort of feral growl, and there were no more words between them.


	5. Sam & Cas (NSFW Artwork)




	6. History

hen Dean Loxley was a child, he had encountered the Kendricks family while with his father on business. John had told him to stay quiet and listen, and to learn what he could about what sort of person Bevell Kendricks was. So Dean had done exactly that. But it was less Bevell himself and more his son Hess who had caught Dean’s attention, and in a disturbing way. Bevell was arguing about a shipment of goods from John’s lands, pretending that Dean’s father wasn’t an honest man who provided everything he promised, which made Dean angry. He had watched the barrels being loaded himself, and he knew it was right. But he was quiet as told, and let John handle things in that quiet, dangerous tone. Dean himself followed the sound of some other commotion to the stables, and that was where he had met Hess Kendricks for the first time.

Hess was beating a horse mercilessly with a switch. 

Dean had frowned. He quickly sized up the other boy, and found him to be an equal match at least. Both were tall, and each had broad shoulders, and strong arms. But Dean’s father insisted that he work the land just as his men did, as John himself did, and one look at Hess told Dean that this boy did no such work. 

“What’d the horse do to you?” he queried quietly. 

“Nothing,” Hess replied without emotion. “I’m practicing for the stableboy.”

Dean’s frown darkened further. “What’d the stableboy do to you?”

“Nothing. Yet. I’ll decide later.”

Dean nodded. The horse was making a pitiful sound, but it had nowhere to escape, trapped as it was inside the stall. “Think you better knock it off. Horse has had enough.”

“I’ll say when that’s so.”

Quick as a cat, Dean reached out and snatched the crop from the other boy’s hand before it could fall again. “I already said it’s so.”

A red-faced Hess whirled on him in fury. “Who are you, then? Who are you, so I can tell my father who I’m taking my switch to when he asks?”

He took a deep breath. John would not approve of him brawling, even if it was a spoiled son of a snobbish, wealthy city merchant. But Dean had never been good at reining in his own temper, nor backing down from a fight. “I’m Dean. I’m the son of John Loxley. And you may try to beat me as you did this poor creature, but you’ll find it far more difficult a challenge.”

Hess huffed in anger. “It’s my horse, and I can beat him if I want!”

“Maybe. But you shouldn’t. And I won’t let you. Neither will you beat any stableboy today while I’m here.”

“I do as I please because my father owns them both! Not only is he their master, but he is also sheriff here, as I will be one day. And that means I can beat anyone I choose!”

Dean was growing very tired of this boy’s voice. “Being a master means caring for your people and animals, not whipping them bloody. And being sheriff means protecting them.”

“It means keeping them in their place! It means punishing them when they need it!”

He had heard enough. He raised his knee and snapped the crop in half, and tossed both halves into the trough. “One day you will meet up with one who considers you no master, and who cares nothing about your daddy being sheriff. And that man will teach you to be more careful in the way you speak.”

Hess stepped forward to stare Dean down. “I’d like to see him try. Your father is John Loxley? A cheat and a peasant! My father says he simply awaits the day that dirty hedge-born lout has a poor harvest and he can take those lands off him and put them back in the hands of true nobility!”

Nostrils flared and heart pounded, but still Dean held his fists at his sides. 

“John Loxley is nothing but a peasant that married a low-ranking whore whose father was landed without having earned-“

Hess still had the crook in his nose all these years later, as well as the raw hatred for Dean Loxley. If their fathers had not arrived in time to tear Dean off of him, the damage done to the future sheriff would have been far greater. 

The second time he had encountered Hess Kendricks, the two of them were young men, in military service for the king. Though their ranks were technically equal, Dean received the respect of his men, because he worked as hard as ever he asked them to do. Hess, on the other hand, gained a reputation for brutality. Rumors emerged of the man’s cruelty and the pleasure he took in the pain he could inflict without consequence. No one trusted him, and Dean advised his men to steer clear of the would-be sheriff. Their units did not see combat together, thankfully. But Dean kept his ears open for word of the sheriff’s son, and what he heard did nothing to settle his disgust. 

It was in a tavern upon returning from skirmishing that the young men were reunited. Hess was there to celebrate. Dean was there to grieve. 

John was dead, and his lands had been confiscated by his rivals. Dean had been declared dead at the hands of the enemy, Sam had told him, and there was little doubt who had arranged for that mistake. The smirk on the lips of Hess Kendricks was proof enough. 

“Allow me to express my deepest condolences for your loss, Sir Dean,” the snake spat. “John was a...Well, I’m sure he will be mourned.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with fury. “He will be,” he agreed. “By those he fed year in and out, who have been abandoned by your father and the Prince in their illegitimate dealings with our land!”

Hess shrugged carelessly. “Those who labored for him will do so for another master. It’s what they are for. If they don’t, they deserve to starve.” 

Sam grabbed hold of Dean’s forearm as he tried to leap up from the bench. “Loxley, no. It gains you nothing to fight. His father is the law.”

“Speaking of illegitimacy,” Hess snarled. “It says much about your character, when you choose a baseborn bastard as your drinking companion. Better that you truly had died at war, little soldier. Next time, be sure to take the tiresome bastard off to die with you.”

Again, Sam held firm to Dean to prevent him punching the man. He stepped forward himself, with a dangerous smile that reminded Dean of their shared, late father. “A bastard I may be, and baseborn. So I’ve got an excuse to act as I do. What, pray tell, is the excuse, then, for the son of a noble sheriff to behave like a peasant in the presence of a knight?” 

Hess growled at him. “Stay out of this! It’s nothing to do with you!”

Dean watched the smile on Sam’s face grow darker and colder. “Nothing to do with me? Quite right. That land your father stole, despoiling a true knight of the King of his inheritance and childhood hearth, has nothing to do with me, and I’ve nothing to do with it. But your father and I have tangled before, and he was never glad to have done so. And I’ve often wished it was I and not this good son who crooked your nose. Remember that Loxley hasn’t had the occasion to sleep nights in your father’s cell as I have. The sheriff’s hospitality leaves scars like no one else’s. I’d like to visit some such hospitality upon you.”

“You wretched son of a whore!”

“Who knows what I’m the son of?” Sam shouted at last, all humor seething off. “It was your family that locked away my mother before I was old enough to know her! It was your family who saw her hanged! It’s your family that considers an impoverished unwed mother a nuisance.”

Hess felt the shift, felt Sam’s loss of control. He smiled. “Your mother was a witch, and she was hanged as one should be. That she was also a whore who cast some spell over a weak-minded lout like John Loxley, that’s just further reason she-“

This time, it was Dean who saved the sheriff’s son from obliteration. He cared less about the destruction of the hateful man than about the fate of Sam should he let the younger man kill him. A hand dropped down on Dean’s shoulder in the chaos. 

“You and your brother get gone before you get low. None of us here harbor any love for the sheriff’s son. But many of us worked for your father, and we would have till the day we died. We will cover your flight.”

“I don’t run!” Dean bellowed above the din. 

But the old man shook his head. “You do now, good Sir. The days ahead are dark.” He nodded at Hess, who was shouting incoherently at the crowd, demanding Sam’s throat. “You’re not safe here. No good man is safe here. The Loxley name is worth nothing now. Find another, and get gone. None of us want to see you fall as your father done.”

Dean frowned in concentration. “You’re Caleb.”

“Yes. My family’s worked for yours for generations. And I worked alongside Master John proudly. But he’s gone, and you better go before you’re next.”

“Are you saying…”

Two of Kendricks’ men came through the door, and began storming toward Sam menacingly. Many in the crowd were screaming that they leave the boy alone, and Sam was wild-eyed with anger and looked as though he might try to take down these two as well. 

“Are you saying they killed my father?”

Caleb shrugged. “I’m saying you wouldn’t be surprised to find they did. Them Kendricks have been after the Campbell and Loxley land since long before you or me was born, Master Dean. Now go. Before they hang your brother for doing what you ought not.”

Dean and Sam had run, and they had not stopped running until they reached a stretch of King’s Forest which was forbidden to all. Sam smiled grimly and assured Dean he would be safe here. 

“You can live out here? It’s nowhere, Sam!”

Sam snorted at him. “I have lived out here on many occasions. Go. I’ll be fine now.”

Dean stared at him. “Go where? I’ve no place to go! If I show myself on Loxley land, they’re sure to kill me. They cannot bring a knight to trial, so they won’t bother with one. I’m as good as dead if I try to go back. I knew that before we entered that slosh tonight, and I surely know it now! I’ve got nothing!”

This time, the younger man sighed. “Welcome to my life,” he murmured. “Nothing to lose, and belonging nowhere. I never wanted it for you, Dean. But now that you’re here, I can help you if you’ll let me.”

He watched him with a wince. “I never helped you. My father...Our father didn’t do right by you. And though I always believed that, I never…”

Sam smiled, in spite of the sadness in his eyes. “You were the good son, Dean. I made it on my own. You were never to blame for my misfortunes. And I’ve forgiven John years ago. He did what he had to do to protect the lands he received through your mother’s family. If he had acknowledged me while Samuel Campbell yet lived, he’d have lost those lands long before now.”

“He might have done it after Samuel died.”

“Acknowledging me then would have meant acknowledging what happened to my mother was partly his responsibility.”

Dean cringed. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I’ve never thought of you as anything but a brother of blood, if not in name.”

Finally, a true smile crossed the handsome face. “That we are. And it would be my pleasure to be your companion in this new life of yours, at least until the sheriff sees us hang side by side.”

“He cannot hang a knight.”

“He can hang a bastard brother of a knight all he wants. Twice if it pleases him to do it.”

“I won’t allow that.”

Sam shook his head, and began to laugh. “Noble of you, hero, but do you think any of them would allow you even the breath it would take to speak in my defense? You’re right. They won’t bother with a trial for either of us. You’re too important, and I’m too unimportant. They cannot hang a knight in public, so they will shoot him full of arrows in secret. And me, they’d hardly waste the arrows for. A slice through the heart would see their business done, and not a soul would miss me.”

Dean was quiet for a long time. They sat to rest on a fallen tree, and Sam played idly with a stick in the dirt. At last, Dean nodded. “If they know me, they’ll kill me. It was an arrogant risk to show my face there tonight. I can’t make that mistake again.”

“Your face is easy enough to hide beneath a hood. Pretty though it is, none would recognize you if you covered properly.”

He nodded slowly. “Aye. A hood. Green, that I might blend with the forest as needed.”

“We might go anywhere. You’re as free now as I’ve ever been. Having nothing means no responsibility and nothing to hold you to a spot. To the African pyramids, then? To the Far East silk trade?”

A soft snort came from Dean then. “You know me better. These are not my lands, but these people were my father’s people. I cannot leave them. One day I may be able to help them somehow. They’ve been dealt with as wickedly as I.” He could see from Sam’s face that he had expected exactly this. 

“You cannot use Dean Loxley.” Sam added this part gently. 

“No,” Dean agreed in a hoarse voice. “No, too many know that name. And everything that made it a proud name has been spoilt anyway.”

“What will you go by?”

“Robyn,” he murmured as he stared into the thick forest. “A family name from my mother’s side. Her mother’s brother. Robyn.”

Sam’s soft voice sang out clear and sad, and Dean knew he had never heard any balladier sound finer. “Robyn, Robyn, strong and fair, once Sir Knight, now doesn’t dare. Robyn of the Hunting Wood, hidden in a forest hood. Robyn, Robyn, brave and good, keeping watch from the Hunting Wood.”

Dean smiled at the soft, melodic voice. He had always loved his brother, and now he was the only family he had. But he wouldn’t need anyone else so long as good Sam was there at his right hand. “And your name, my merry man?”

“Will Scarlet, if it pleases you, at your side the whole way through, in darkness and in blinding light, bring Scarlet along for every fight. Whether for his lute or in a brawl, or any drunken tavern crawl, count on Scarlet most of all, ye Robyn of the Hunting Wood.”

So the legend began.


	7. Betrothed

ife for a maiden of Marian Jo’s status was complicated. If she played too hard with the boys, she was reprimanded as unladylike. If she asked too many questions, if she was precocious, it made the men uncomfortable. If she was too quiet, she was fawned over, and if she was too happy, they all disapproved. Everyone had an opinion about how she dressed and kept her hair, how she ate, and that she read so much.

Her mother dismissed all criticism of the way Jo was being raised with a simple glare. Since her husband, the Lord William Harvelle, had died, Ellen had refused any talk of remarrying. She had truly loved Bill. She also did quite well as the head of her household, and needed no one with whom she would be forced to share decisions. Bill had appreciated her shrewdness and spirit. Another might not. It was better to be a little lonely than to put her freedom at risk. Jo had inherited her mother’s tenacity, as well as her obstinate insistence that she would speak her mind regardless of the trouble it caused. She had also inherited her father’s knife, secretly sheathed under her skirts whenever she was away from the security of her home.

Jo had grown up in a home which had guests at all times, and she was quite comfortable conversing with people of all backgrounds. Ellen’s advisor, the funny, brilliant young Ashley, who always smelled of ale and mischief, kept her company if no one else was around to do it. But Jo was endlessly curious about those who visited.

When Jo thought about her childhood, there was one friend, a local boy, who came to mind most pleasantly. Dean Loxley was flaxen-haired and strong, and his green eyes had sparkled with humor. He had made her laugh as no one else could.

His smile was etched into her memory. “You know how to throw knives? Show me then.”

She had watched him with suspicion. “Don’t you want to tell me it’s a boy thing to do?”

Dean had shrugged. “It’s a hard thing to do. I want to see.”

Jo blinked up at him. “I can’t right now,” she lied. “I don’t have my knives.”

“Well, come on then. I’ve got several. My father taught me to wear them all the time.” He reached for his boot, and produced two small, deadly silver blades, each with a sliver of gold roped around the hilt.

“They’re beautiful,” Jo breathed.

“Now you’re sounding like a girl.”

She had whipped her gaze back up at him, but found a happy grin softening his tease. She felt her face flush, and she dismissed it as annoyance. “I am a girl,” she had insisted. “A girl with a knife collection. I’ve got blades from all over the continent and as far as Palestine, you know.”

“But you said you could throw them. I haven’t seen anything of that yet.”

At last, she returned the smirk. She snatched the knives with her delicate hands, and gestured to Dean to move out of the way. “I’m not so good yet that I promise not to kill you without meaning to,” she laughed.

“I’m not promising you won’t want to do it on purpose,” he joked back, with that incorrigible smile.

They had spent hours like that over the years, throwing knives together, laughing together, teasing and arguing. She had met his half-brother once, and had enjoyed his stories and songs, but had thought the boy had some sadness behind those scheming eyes. It was Dean her memories returned to at every opportunity.

Today, she was remembering a particular conversation they’d had when she was about twelve or so, lying in the garden the way they often did, legs pointing out in opposite directions, with the tops of their heads touching.

“Marian Jo? Do you think about what we will have to do in a few seasons?”

She knew he was in a serious mood when he called her by her full name. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, not for a while, but one day. I’ll be off to train for war, like I should. It’s expected of any lord’s son, you know.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “I guess so.”

“And you.”

She sighed. “And me? I’ll be learning to keep an estate. My mother will…”

“She’s got to find you a husband,” he muttered.

The way he said it made it seem like a fate worse than death. “She said she’s going to wait as long as is prudent for that. When I asked if she meant to make me wait until I was unappealing, an older maid no lord might want, she just smiled at me and walked away. I can’t honestly say if that would be such a bad thing.”

Dean tilted his head in the grass to look at her. “You don’t want to marry?”

“Maybe if it were the right person. A man like my father.”

He straightened out, and was quiet for a time. Then he took a deep breath. “What if it were me?”

Her whole body stilled immediately, and she wasn’t sure her heart hadn’t done the same. “What? What if what were you?”

Dean lifted himself on an elbow and twisted to gaze down at her. “I’m fourteen, Jo, but I won’t be forever. I’ll be a lord, and I can-“

“What?” she had snapped suddenly. Now that her heart was beating again, it was racing wildly. “You can take care of me? Is that what you’re about to tell me?”

Dean sat up entirely, and his expression was of cautious confusion. “Well, I can, but that’s not what I-“

It felt too vulnerable to lie beneath him that way. She rose to meet his eyes. “I don’t need to be taken care of,” she informed him. “I’ve plenty of my own strength, so don’t begin promising me yours.”

The boy’s mouth fell open. “Jo, I didn’t mean to say you needed me! I meant to say I hoped you might want me!”

Her stomach did strange things in response to that, and she stared at him without speaking.

He heaved a sigh. “You know I don’t think that way. I love that you’re strong! I can’t imagine wanting to marry someone who wasn’t! But is that what you would have? A man who is weak so that you are free to be yourself? A lady like you’ll be, Jo, should have a man who can make her proud. Any man that should try to marry you should be stronger than any other, and should admire and not resent your strength. He should be proud to have you by his side, should be friend as well as husband. Like your mother had. Like my mother had. Any man that would ask you to be weak is himself too weak to deserve you, Marian Jo. Maybe you won’t have me. But that’s what I want for you one day.”

Years later, she was seated across from her betrothed, and he was not Dean Loxley. He was nothing like Dean Loxley. She hated him.

Hess Kendricks smiled tightly at her when he noticed her watching him. He pushed his plate away, like her mother had always said wasn’t polite. “You must not stare, Marian. It isn’t right for a lady to do so.”

Jo wanted to punch him in the face. “I apologize if I make you uncomfortable,” she said through her teeth. “Ash? Please acquire another ale for me.”

She had known this would annoy her company. As Ashley lifted an eyebrow and disappeared from the room, Hess shook his head at her. “That is something else which will change upon our marriage. A lady must not drink too freely. That is for men to do, and I will not tolerate it in my wife.”

Her blood was boiling in her veins. The entire dinner had been spent expressing everything wrong with Jo and now that Ashley was gone, they were finally alone, and she would tell him what she thought of it. “Do you hold your whores to such standards as well, Sheriff, or only your wives?”

The flash of anger in his eyes made her shiver, and she hated him for that as well. She knew in her heart that Dean Loxley would never have made her afraid. “My business among women in the town is none of yours! You’re becoming tiresome, Marian.”

“It’s Jo,” she returned. “And if I’m to be your wife, your business is also my-“

The open palm across her face sent her sprawling onto the floor.

“If you’re to be my wife, I will call you whatever I please. Don’t correct me again. I won’t allow for such a thing!”

Jo’s heart pounded, and her breast heaved with fear inside her heavy dress. Instinct had taken over her upon hitting the floor, and she realized now that her knife, her father’s knife, was in her hand, aimed at the Sheriff.

A glint of amusement sparked in his eyes. “You raise a blade against me, your master?”

Tears washed her cheeks, and she hated him for that too. “You are not my master. I won’t allow for such a thing.” She repeated his words with venom, but also with a sinking feeling of defeat.

Before he could respond, Ashley was there at her side, helping her stand, and demanding to know what had happened.

Hess grabbed his riding coat and glowered at them both. “The ceremony which will place your father’s lands and your personal submission in my hands will be in just days. Use the time before it to make yourself worthy of your new master. You do not want that I should have to teach you.”

Jo sobbed into Ashley’s chest as the man sauntered out the hall and through the great doors, into the night. “I can’t marry him, Ash! I can’t!”

Ashley sighed. “What can we do? The Prince commands it.” He lifted her chin. “You’re Lady Marian Jo Harvelle. You can handle anything.”

She nodded, but couldn’t speak. Her cheek was badly bruised, but it was her soul which wept.

***

Sam nodded once to let Benny know that the dark figure leaving the House of Harvelle was the one they sought. He could see the brute across the gate return the nod, and then Sam watched as his friend stalked their target from several meters, silent as a cat. Sam wondered if Benny had learned to be so graceful while pirating. Probably not. Sam had met many a sailor who was just as clumsy as anyone else.

His own talents were not insignificant. Sam had a knack for climbing, be it trees or walls, without a sound. Presently, he was perched on the top of the stone wall about the Harvelle manor, and he dropped down to land on his boots on the ground. He slipped after Benny.

Sam sometimes marveled at the situations he found himself in. Every bit of trouble he had encountered as a boy had been of his own making. He had the strange advantage of being the brother to a lordling and yet not son of a lord. Unlike Dean, there were no expectations for him. He belonged to no house, but he was welcome in Dean’s company. He had fond memories of waiting outside for Dean to finish with his tutors, stealing apples from the trees to munch and to toss at Dean’s window if he took too long. When Dean ran from the house, he often brought his books to pass along to Sam, who adored him for it. Dean had fed his mind, and Sam had fed Dean’s need for fun.

It was true that Sam had brought most trouble upon himself, but in more recent years, Dean had brought his own share along too. The bandit Robyn had gained a notoriety which had made it nearly impossible for him to go into the town without being recognized, so his faithful Scarlet ran his errands. A lifetime of being invisible now lent its freedom to Sam’s purpose.

Stalking the sheriff was an easy enough task. He and Benny had decided to make it seem as if the man had been waylaid en route to home by common robbers. No reason to take any credit for the mishap. It was a dangerous world. Men met with violent ends often enough. Beyond that, the two hunters had not made much talk about a plan.

Perhaps that would have been fine if it weren’t for what was happening now.

Their prey had stopped on the road, and was joined by three other men who were conversing with him in quiet tones.

Benny looked back at Sam, who swore under his breath. The two backed away into the shadows of the trees to wait.

In time, the voices became clearer, and Sam caught bits of the conversation. He could tell by Benny’s snarl that the pirate had caught even more. They both crept forward to listen.

“...insufferable. But I will have those lands!”

“What then? Lady Harvelle won’t-“

The sheriff waved this question away in irritation. “Ellen Harvelle is being dealt with before midnight tonight, as she stays with her late husband’s sister Pamela. The widow is a thorn, and I will not be subject to the scold after tonight.”

“What mean you?” the gruff voice demanded. “You can’t mean to hurt the old lady!”

“Not me, no. Such a thing cannot lead back to me. But when I said I would possess the maiden and her father’s lands, did you think I would count among my treasures a mother who looks at me with such suspicion? No. The nag widow will meet her end tonight, and I shall be sorrowfully unable to bring her attacker to justice.” He glared into the eyes of the man who had questioned him. “And if you want to continue to benefit from the bit of business we did years back with the Loxley and Campbell land, you’ll do as I tell you.”

Sam’s gaze burned into Benny’s. The night had become no less bloody, but far more complicated.


	8. Loyalty

he look on Castiel’s face said it all.

Dean burst from his bedroll with a grunt of irritation, and yanked on his britches. “The scoundrel left off on his own, didn’t he?”

The holy man shrugged. He was dressed already, in his abbey brown, and was wringing his hands with worry. “Aye. Benny Little is gone too. And should we be shocked? I began after him, then came to my senses and made myself rouse you first.”

“A welcome miracle that one of those I call brother has sense under his cap!”

Castiel nodded with a sigh. “What will we do? Dean, if he is caught-if he-“

“I know it. Harden your heart, friar. I need one steady man at the very least. Find that baudy bandit and I will string him up myself. Benny too! They’re smarter than this!” He was pulling his tunic over his head, making his short hair wild. “What are they thinking?”

His friend was quieter. “You know. They mean to spare us from a hanging!”

But Dean was not calmed. He snapped back as he gathered his bow and quiver to him. “They mean to steal my fun and glory!” he complained. “And if one of us is to be hanged for the town to see, it might be me! Sam is so tall his feet will drag, and Little’s heavy enough to break the gallows! Come on. Where’s your sword?”

“Where it is always. In my robe, hidden.”

“Come on then! I don’t intend that Scarlet and Little have all the mischief to themselves! Just now, they’re likely wishing we were there to rescue them!”

Castiel sighed. “Can your plan be salvaged?”

“I’ve got dozens more. Don’t worry, fat friar.” The blue glare made him laugh, for he had decided to assume that Sam and Benny were not sitting in the Sheriff’s holding cells, awaiting execution, or worse yet, lying in a ditch with feathers protruding from their hearts. His brother and friend were fine. They simply had a head start. “And if they are not fine,” he murmured to himself, stepping from his tent into the night, “someone will pay proper with his own pain.”

***

Sam was the faster runner of the two, and so he had left Benny to rush for Lady Harvelle, and he himself hurried to the outer perimeter of the camp. “Halloo!” he cried. “Does someone hear?”

The dreamy bard Andy a’Dale responded first. “Scarlet? Is it you who calls?”

“Of course it is! Wake them all! I have not the time for finding those I need by and by. Wake them, and be not gentle in doing it!”

Andy dropped from his night watch tree, and lifted a small horn to his lips. Upon it, he blew thrice, and there was no mistaking it as the alarm of trouble. The camp sprang to life, and Sam was gratified to hear the sounds of weapons being grabbed even before a stitch of clothing. Robyn’s men must always be ready for a brawl, even in the dead quiet of the twilight. 

As he crossed into the camp, he set about looking anxiously for his brother. It was a bit of a surprise to see both him and the holy man approach already dressed and armed. 

“Sammy!” Dean barked. “Where’s Little?”

“Little Benny scouts ahead, and quite right that he did so. We’ve learned something which complicates your plan, Robyn.”

The lift of an eyebrow told Sam that Dean knew better than to believe the two wayward men had simply been scouting ahead, but he left it alone for now. Castiel was looking from one to the other and back again. “Speak,” Dean commanded. 

Sam gasped to catch his breath. He had run the entire distance back through the forest, and had barely time to breathe while speaking to Andy. “It is Ellen,” he panted. 

Dean’s eyes darkened dangerously. “What about her? Has she come to harm?”

“Not yet. Little is on his way to her now, as we overheard a plot against her life.”

There were mutterings all around him, but one voice spoke up with strength. “Against Lady Ellen!” the Cook spat. “Who means to harm that woman? I’ll break him in my hands! And should Benny do it before I can, I’ll break him again myself!”

Dean smiled grimly. “Hold, Bobby. You’ll have your chance. Choose a man and follow Scarlet’s directions to her rescue. There is no assassin which can take on the likes of you and Benny Little both. The third man will barely be needed, except as witness.”

Bobby took a deep breath. “Well? Garth Much barely counts as one man, and so I’ll take him and Rufus.” 

Garth nodded, happy to have been included. Rufus rolled his eyes, and tossed a tunic over his bare chest. “So long as I get whatever the ruffian has in his purse when we gut him,” he grumbled. “Especially if it’s a flask.”

They spoke quickly to Sam to learn that Ellen slept at her sister-in-law’s home tonight, and they slipped into the forest without a sound. Dean whispered a prayer of luck for them, and turned back to Sam and Castiel. “Andy, get back to your perch. There is too much going on tonight for us to leave the watch unattended. Those who will remain in camp must be warned of any trouble, as they will be disadvantaged so long as our best fighters are away.”

“And Garth,” Sam snickered. Now that help was on the way for Lady Harvelle, his humor was returning to him. 

Dean smiled fondly, staring after his disappearing merry men. “Our best fighters, and Garth,” he corrected. “Though, Much can surprise you now and again with his own unique talents. Do not count him out. It is infrequent, but his skills strike at crucial moments.”

Sam’s heart swelled with love for his brother. Dean was a hero to every man among them, for his insistence upon doing what was good with no care for what was legal, and his ability to pull the best out of each man when he needed him. Dean’s charisma and his confidence made every outlaw in King’s Forest want to prove his worth to the mischievous leader. Sam was no exception. Letting down his brother was the worst thing Sam’s creative mind could imagine. 

Castiel cleared his throat. “Aye. Well, we must be ready to partake of our own talents and skills. What is the new plan, Robyn? We can no longer wait till dawn to carry out your crimes.”

“Indeed.” 

Sam could see Dean’s mind whirring behind green eyes. It was fascinating. 

Finally, Dean took a long breath, and nodded. “Scarlet? Haven’t you heard of the midnight archery match?”

Amused, he simply lifted an eyebrow. “Educate me, Robyn.”

The green eyes were now sparkling in the moonlight. “Ah, but you must remember! It has been talked about for weeks! Nay, months!”

Playing along with one another’s lies was second nature by now. “Ah! Surely that night is not tonight! Stupid of me to forget!”

Dean hummed in agreement. “A fine flagon of ale to the winner, they said! And twenty marks to boot, to the yeoman that can shoot the best shaft.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Seems to be a fine distraction from hard life,” he said quietly. “And at midnight? What a challenge that might be!”

“I said the same! Come now, and we will hurry to the range to place our humble bows into the contest, and see whose is the keenest. Who will do this with me? And most important, who will be sure the townspeople have not forgot, as did my careless brother?”

It was a quiet but loyal Spaniard that spoke now. “How many shall we rouse for you?” Cesar Cuevas was a former valet of the Earl of Stutely, and Sam had always liked him. He was glancing back at Jesse Stutely, who was shaking his head with concern. The two men had run from Jesse’s inheritance to be together. Dean had welcomed them warmly, and was rewarded for his hospitality by finding them both to be excellent hunters, who kept the Cook busy and the poor of the town fed. Cesar had been ever grateful, and was often the first to volunteer to fight for their Prince. 

Sam caught his own lover in a wistful sigh as Jesse took hold of Cesar’s hand. He smiled. 

Dean grinned, and through the wicked rascality in those green eyes, Sam could see the dangerous glint. “Everyone, corazon fiel. Everyone that ever had any love for a Loxley, a Harvelle, a Robyn, a Scarlet, or a Winchester; every saint, every sinner, every good working man and every honest outlaw. Call on them now.”

The man bowed his head. “Leave this to me, nuestro campeón. The whole town will remember hearing of this most exciting event. Give me an hour, and give me Andy a-Dale, and your work will be done.”

The archer nodded back at him. “Jesse? Might you take Andy’s place as watcher?”

Jesse sighed. “Aye, you know I will. Bring back to me my companion in a single piece, if you can.”

Cesar winked at Sam, then turned to kiss the cheek of his lover. “Living for love and freedom has ever been our way. I will die for it too, but not tonight.”

Jesse gave him a huffy grumble, but smiled softly anyway. 

Castiel was still staring at them with longing in his eyes. Sam sighed. He wished the holy man might give up his life at the abbey completely, and he might yet do so, as he spent more and more time among Robyn’s band. But until then, discretion was Castiel’s requirement, if not his desire. There were probably none here who did not know they were lovers, but Castiel insisted upon the merest touches and gestures while among those he considered his flock. At least for now. Sam hoped things would be different when at last the monk lived in the camp without intending to return to his Church. 

Dean murmured instructions to Cesar, who nodded carefully. The men touched shoulders, and parted. Jesse followed his lover to take over as night watch for Andy. 

“What time do you think?”

Castiel looked up then. “If autumn sunset became complete at seven, Scarlet and Little gone just two or three hours, it puts us at ten, I think.”

Dean nodded. “Good. You two come, and the rest lay quiet. Listen for Andy a-Dale’s horn in case trouble comes upon us. Sleep till then, my yeomen, for either we will have much to celebrate or much to mourn by tomorrow’s light, and both require you rest your weary heads tonight.” 

The three men turned to leave the camp, and heard a low voice, soon joined by others, singing one of Sam’s songs behind them to carry them on. 

“Masquerading as a man with a reason  
My charade is the event of the season.  
And if I claim to be a wise man,  
It surely means I don’t know…”


	9. Midnight

am was certain there would be epic ballads sung of this night. How could there not be? He had only just glimpsed the scene himself, and already lines of poetry tumbled through his own mind. Not a soul would ever believe him, but he would know the truth of it all.

For only an instant, tears sparkled in the green pools of Dean Loxley’s eyes. “They remember,” he whispered. “My father. They remember him.”

It was how he knew Dean was speaking to himself and not to him. The good son had always been careful to refer to John as their father, not only his own. But still Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. No one will stick out their neck to the chopping block for any dead man, except occasionally the one that expired atop a cross for their sins. No, they may have loved your father. But this risk they take, it is for love of you.”

The green eyes nearly cringed closed. “I’ve done nothing for them,” he argued hoarsely. “I am nothing to them.”

“You’re far more to them than John ever was. John was good to them, perhaps, but he was yet their master. You feed them in hard times and you pass along to them coin which you could easily keep for yourself. You risk yourself for them every week, and twice that in winter. They all know you’ve been dealt with wickedly, and could have left them behind at once, but you haven’t. Your life is made far more difficult to stay, and yet you do. When they do this tonight, they are doing it to thank the Dean they know as Robyn Hood, not the lordling son of John Loxley.”

When his eyes opened again, his face hardened with determination. “Then let me not fail them.”

Those words were as close as Sam ever heard his brother come to prayer. He smiled. His own hero worship was thick on his lips. “You never have,” he breathed out. “You won’t tonight.”

Dean glanced up at him at last, as though until that moment Sam had been a voice in his head. “If they try to shoot me full of feathers, you’re to prevent them.”

Sam began to laugh, and the moment of softness was gone between them. “I don’t know,” he teased. “You’ve a nicer tent than I have. And Little Benny covets your bow.”

Dean snorted inelegantly. “I can always count on my brother to speak truth into my fantasies. Thank you for that.”

“Rogue.”

“Scoundrel.”

A slightly out-of -breath cleric came upon them while they were laughing. “Things are as set as they will be, Sir Robyn,” he reported. “Also, should the matter come up later, I’ve no idea how the stupid cousin of Sheriff Kendricks, Rawlings, gained the knot at the back of his skull, and even if I had, I cannot imagine it was the hilt of a sword like mine that could have done it. I can only surmise that the ambitious brute fell down those dark stone stairs of his own clumsiness, and some wayward saint is responsible for the message sent to the abbey to send a physician to look into it.”

Sam smiled through the growled speech. “Lucky his attacker is also a wayward saint.”

Castiel hummed in irritation.

Dean snickered. “I’ll just assume there’s a story there, which would explain to me my need for Rawlings Kendricks to be dealt with in such a way. For now, I don’t care.”

“Good,” Castiel grumbled.

Sam squeezed Castiel’s hand, and felt it cold and trembling just a little. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Simply don’t die,” the friar snapped.

It was said in a way that did not even allow a joke from his lover. “I promise,” he responded.

Dean was already moving toward the scene before them, but then he glanced back. “Where is she?”

“She is positioned where she ought to be. Do not look for her. Your distraction will get us all killed. Ashley and Cesar will see to her, Ash from her side, and Cesar from the shadows. You focus only on your own glory, for it is all that saves us this night. Go.”

Dean grumbled. He pulled his cloak’s hood to hide his features. “I’m going, fat friar. When this is all over, remind me to trounce you for fun.”

“Live, and I’ll allow you the first blow, but it is the only one you’ll get,” Castiel shot back. Then he sighed. “Be safe, brother.”

“And you, Frere.” His boots carried him off.

“Sam?”

“I am Scarlet now.”

Castiel shrugged. “No one can hear us.”

Sam wet his lips and tipped his head down to watch Castiel’s eyes. “Do you know why I chose Will Scarlet?”

“I know only that each of your names means something. I know not what they mean.”

He nodded. “Will is that which keeps me fighting, though I’ve been defeated at every turn of my life. Scarlet...Scarlet is the color of the cloth my mother wore every day, even to be hanged. Or so I was told once, and it is oddly the only thing I remember being told of her. I didn’t know her. But she knew me. And somehow she is that color in my mind. I know nothing of her, except that she must have loved me, at least for a moment. I am always Sam, but I choose at times to be Will Scarlet, to remind myself that a moment of love is worth fighting for. My mother must have felt love for me, even if it was only for a moment. And I don’t know her, but I’ll love her my whole life, just for that moment. Scarlet is the fabric she wore. It is the scar over my heart. And it is the color I intend to stain the family of Kendricks for their role in killing her before I could know her.”

The holy man looked upon him in sadness and love. “Then let us do this, not just for the sake of your brother’s heroism, not just for the safety of the Harvelle ladies, but also for your late mother who watches you now, and must love you always.”

Sam’s emotional smile was crooked. “Had someone fought for her as Dean fights now for Marian Jo, I might have known her, Cas. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I have the will, and the color which made me what I am. Sam always, and Will Scarlet as needed.”

***

Dean could feel his brothers all around him. It was an incredible sight before him, and it was warmth and righteousness filling his heart. What he did was right. These people trusted him. They did not doubt him, and so he would not doubt himself. His heart led him, and he trusted it as they all trusted him.

The sheer speed with which these peasants had produced for him a full festival was impressive in the extreme. Lanterns hung at every dark space, foods cooked, music played in the hands of local bards, ale flowed and laughter sang out. Dean smiled to himself. The lives of these people were very hard, and though it was a lot to ask of them to create a contest at no notice in the dark of night, no one seemed to be regretting their lack of sleep. It probably helped that Cesar and Andy had approached them with venison to add to their coffers as a show of gratitude. According to Andy, very few had even asked for any explanation. Once they had learned it was for a scheme of Robyn’s, and that he would be grateful to them for participating, most sprang to work without needing another word. It was rewarding in a way no knighthood could have been. The recognition of a King was but formality; the loyalty of his poorest people was far more weighty.

And so the fields at the edge of the small city had become a festival in just a few hours’ time, and Dean had his archery competition. All he needed now…

“What is all this?”

He grinned. The bellow belonged to none other than the bloody Sheriff. “And the game is on,” he whispered from inside his hood.

A cheer erupted from the townspeople. Andy a-Dale was in his element, it seemed, as crier. “Dear Sheriff Kendricks!” the young man gushed above the crowd. “He is here!” This prompted another cheer of excitement, and he let it die back before continuing. “The man who allowed us this diversion, nay but the man whose very idea it was, who planned it all and set the prizes himself!”

Kendricks let his face redden in the dim light, and he searched the crowd for the voice which called out his name.

Andy quieted then, and it was the turn of another to continue the lies. “What Sheriff other than he would have put up twenty marks and a flagon of his own ale to the winner of a shooting match in the middle of our night?”

Before Kendricks or his men could identify this speaker either, yet another voice shouted out. “Cheers for the Sheriff! Cheers!”

The crowd obliged happily.

The Sheriff stared.

And now another. “It has been an event talked about for months! Now it is finally upon us!”

Watching Hess swing his head back and forth to try to catch who was speaking was even more fun than Dean had expected.

“But the twenty marks was to beat the Sheriff himself, and we all know him to be the best among us at every sport! Can anyone beat the Sheriff with a bow? I think not!”

Sudden alarm was registering in the eyes of the arrogant lawman. Dean snickered to see it. Archery was not at all where Hess held his confidence. He was able, but no more so than any other. And yet…

“I’ve...I’ve let this gathering slip my mind,” he admitted tightly to the crowd. “But, as it is true that none can shoot better, my marks remain safely in my purse. Let it begin.”

Dean caught the eyes of Sam across the field. The same wicked smile shone through each hooded face, as cheers and laughter filled the air again. It was time.


	10. Tourney

he crowd had done their part. His men too. Andy a-Dale by himself had four of the Sheriff’s guards singing baudy ballads. Sam had bested two more in a “quite friendly” wrestling match, and bruised them badly enough to make them useless in a real battle. Every man loyal to the Sheriff, or at least to his office, who approached Marian Jo was immediately set upon by Cesar or Ash with a large portion of ale to dull the senses. The friar had drunk with one until oblivion took him, and was presently working on doing the same to another. All his merry friends were doing whatever it took to keep up the appearance of a delightful festival while weakening the force of Hess Kendricks in every possible, subtle way. 

It was up to him now. 

The Sheriff had men watching Marian Jo and her mother at every hour of the day. Ellen had suspected as much, and nightly reconnaissance by Scarlet had confirmed it. Even though Sam had not known the reasons for his errands into town, he had completed them with dedication Dean knew was absolute. The pieces of information acquired by his brother and by his own scouting had stacked up, until Dean knew that simply stealing Marian Jo would never be plausible, not without being forced to kill. Much as Dean hated to acknowledge it, there were good men among the Sheriff’s guards just as there were good men among bands of outlaws. 

Dean would kill a monster like Hess Kendricks in a blink, with no remorse. But he would not harm a good man, no matter who he worked for, unless it could not be helped. Kendricks would have no such guilt about dealing blows to Dean’s men, he knew. But that was what made Dean the hero and Hess the villain in this story, and he reminded himself of it whenever he found himself wanting to simply rage into battle against the brute. And if that reminder was insufficient, Sam would certainly remind him. 

Sam was a strange rogue. He was honorable in ways a knight like Dean often wasn’t, and yet ruthless in ways Dean sometimes had trouble stomaching. Once Will Scarlet felt justified in an action, there was no stopping him, no reasoning with him. Even his holy man would be at a loss to convince Sam he was wrong if he thought he was right. Dean rarely bothered justifying his actions, but yet could he be reasoned out of them if a friend like Sam, Castiel, Benny or Bobby spoke with enough conviction. If Sam’s mind was made, it was done, and Heaven have mercy on the one who stood in his way. As much as Dean had seen in his life, as much as he often thought nothing yet existed which could cause him fear, there were times when a dangerous flash of his brother’s eyes made his heart quake. 

Not today. Today, that fine Will Scarlet was devoted only to the cause of Robyn, and all was right when the hooded brethren stood together in mischief.

Hooded, he was. The Sheriff had yet to recognize him, and that was well, considering their mutual loathing. Whether it was Luck or a Heavenly Father or the ghost of his own, Dean was thankful. The time for reveals would probably come too soon. He was grateful for every moment he spent eluding the Sheriff’s nose. 

It would not last much longer. 

Hess gave a sort of relieved grunt when his arrow found its mark. Dean couldn’t help thinking the man seemed surprised each time he hit the target, and it made him smirk. “There!” he called to his opponent. “Mend that!”

The old hunter against him whistled low. “Aye, that I could!” He raised his bow, and let his arrow slip. He scowled. “Shit. It’s a rotten ale anyway; I’m sure of it.”

The crowd laughed at him, and he kicked his way to the tables nearby to order a drink, since he would not be earning a free one. 

Dean snickered. He loved these people. He remembered the old man from a lifetime ago. They had worked in the brutal sun, side by side, and that man, whose name he couldn’t quite grasp onto, had shared his waterskin with the stupid lordling who had forgotten to bring one and who was too afraid of his father’s irritation to run back to the house for it. Dean would never forget kindness of that sort, would never forget the man, even if the name escaped him. He might have liked to see the old hunter best the Sheriff. 

But nothing worked that way in the lives of these folk. The Sheriff was better trained, better educated, better fed, and had the time to practice at a range while the old man had to work from dawn to dusk his whole life through. 

Just thinking of it made Dean grip his bow too tightly. 

“A tutor once told me to hold a bow in such a way that didn’t white my knuckles, or I would starve while trying to feed myself.”

Dean glanced up. “That tutor of yours was quite right. Even if he never had the need to feed himself in that way.”

Sam snorted at him. “Maybe not as a child. But as a grown man now, he’s like to starve if he don’t shoot straight, just as the rest of us. And so loosen that grip, tutor, for shooting straight is a necessity today if ever it was.”

They watched as Hess moved on to the next target and the next opponent, gaining in confidence all the while. Dean himself barely glanced at his own target before loosing the arrow which would strike it dead center. His own opponent rolled his eyes and gave his attempt, then quietly followed after the old hunter without even a word. Those who knew who the man in Lincoln green was knew better than to think he could be bested in an archery match. Dean continued his conversation with his brother with no pause. “It’s not a matter of shooting straight,” he murmured. His attention remained fixed upon the Sheriff. “It's a matter of reaching your target. Rarely does your target wait for you to strike it, and rarely is it straight before you. That’s the truth of archery. You can aim all you like, but you will lose, time and again, if never you learn to shoot while things change around you. The wind, the bend of the shaft, the stretch of your bowstring, the keenness of your feather, and even the way your tip is filed, it all matters far more than the aim. And never once in all my life did I shoot straight. My target and I may be perfectly aligned, but it is everything between us which must be conquered. Then at last when I have my target struck, it yet remains whether that target will yield to my arrow. If it doesn’t, all else was for naught.”

His brother shrugged. “Marian Jo has every intention to yield to you, Dean, should you shoot true and make it to her.”

“And she is not a pheasant, so I’ve no clue as to what to do with her once I’ve done so. But it will be fun to be taught as much as it ever was to learn.” 

“Regardless, fellow poet, your time to shoot, straight or otherwise, comes now. Hess has eliminated all other rivals, as have you. Marian Jo is being prepared for her theft. And it is now yours to win, be it twenty marks or twenty lashes, be it a flagon of ale or a flogging to your own blood. So be it your maid or your Maker, I trust you are ready to meet.”

“I trust you are at my side.”

“Nay, at your back, and always.”

He smiled. “We’ve work to do.”

“That we have, good brother.” With that, Sam slipped like a cat into the crowd, and appeared a moment later where only Dean knew to find him, in the nearest tree, with his own able bow aimed, not straight, but steady. 

Hess was at last filled with pompous grace, having victory in his sights and his own twenty marks secure. He turned with a haughtiness which made Dean want to lay into him, to fix the crooked nose with a new break. “Who is this last bow that challenges me?” He spoke in a booming voice, dripping with conceit. 

And why shouldn’t he be impressed with himself, Dean snarled inside his head. Hess had everything he had ever wanted, and thought he had earned it. He stole land and called it righting a wrong. He caused deaths and called it profession. He frightened maidens and called it matrimony. He wrought pain and called it justice. 

Dean’s knuckles were white about his bow again. 

But his voice was strong. “I am a forester, and no name be necessary. We all know your name, and that is all that matters, beloved Sheriff.”

There were coughs and snickers all about them, but Hess seemed not to notice. “Perhaps it is all that matters,” the man agreed, “but yet I would know the only man that rose to the final bout as I did. You’re a forester, but that tells me nothing.”

“It tells everything there is to tell. I’m nothing more and nothing less than that.”

“What woods do you call home, forester?” Kendricks snarled suddenly, as though he were abruptly reminded of something unpleasant. “For no man gains the skill as you have without training or hunting. You’ve no training, and that makes me think you’ve been hunting. For what do you hunt, and where?”

Dean’s gaze shifted to find that everyone stared now. The sounds about them had faded off. He took a breath. “I hunt deer,” he admitted. “And in the forest I know. Sherwood.”

Kendricks let his eyes go dark and dangerous. “Those are the King’s deer.”

“Are they? I invite him to feast with me should ever he leave the business abroad which costs us all the riches of our land as well as the attention of our patriarch, not to mention the blood of our young and old.”

The night around them was still, as everyone awaited the Sheriff’s reaction to the treasonous talk. 

The man took a deep breath. “You’ve got quite a tongue for a forester with no name,” he spat through clenched teeth. “You seem familiar to me, as does your bold conceit. But your hood blocks my way. I demand a name, your name, and I want it now.”

Dean’s eyes bore into the gaze of his most hated rival, just paces away. He could feel every other set of eyes, especially those of his brother, the rogue poet, who thought him far better than Dean knew himself to be. Sam always thought the best of him, the impossible best. Just this once, before his childhood sweetheart, his friend the confessor, before the families his father had called his and the band he knew as his own, before that truest brother that believed in him, Dean wanted to be what they thought he was. 

“Well?” Hess clearly thought he had Dean at a disadvantage, for he was employing grander speech than before, as if to emphasize just how below him Dean was. “What does a man calleth one fiend such as thee?”

Dean met his words as better than equal. “One man calleth me kind, another calleth me cruel; this one calleth me good, honest fellow, and that one vile thief. Truly, the world hath as many eyes to look upon a man withal as there are spots on a toad; so, with what pair of eyes thou regardest me lieth entirely with thine own self. My name is Robyn Hood.”

Cheers met gasps and suddenly the factions within the crowd showed themselves. Those merry lads Dean had told to stay behind in safety tossed their cloaks aside to reveal weapons of all sorts. The guards of Hess Kendricks were just a moment behind, on their feet as much as any drunken one of them could stand at all. The families of the town stood back, but Dean’s sharp eyes caught the movements of many to grab to them bows, knives, and even the heavy pans meant for cooking fires, and he knew they were ready to join the fray if necessary. 

The ones Dean did not see were gladly absent. Marian Jo, her attendant Ashley, and her soul’s protector Frere Tuck, were nowhere to be found. He grinned in spite of the danger at hand; nay, he grinned because of it! His heart filled with the love he felt around him. 

Kendricks had clearly taken a quick assessment of the crowd as well, and his face was paler than a moment before. “What is this? Robyn Hood? The outlaw? The traitorous villain? And these, his men? I will rid this good town of your evil, and leave not a single one standing!”

Dean turned to glance up into a dark tree nearby, and received his council from a pair of bright hazel eyes. He took his breath. “No. I challenge you here, Sheriff. These men, I do not know, but their hearts I cannot fault. They inspire me. Even your own honest men who stand ready to protect these fine people, they fill me with affection. Let us shed no other blood today. I’ve come for a tournament, which you’ve nearly won yourself. Match me, and I will willingly give myself over to your justice, while these fine strangers go about their own lives. Should I best you, you allow me three paces toward the wood I call home before you follow, with all the men you can garner. Either way, a man such as yourself should be able to gather to him a trophy tonight. What say you? ‘Tis a shooting match, is it not? You and me, and none other.”

The crowd waited with an overwhelming tension. There were a few cries of “No, Robyn!” and “Let us fight for you as you always have for us!” and “Bloody stupid, Robyn! We can take them!” He loved them all for their defiance, which was precisely why he would not let them die for him if he could help it. 

The Sheriff growled audibly. “You cannot hope to win the night.”

Dean smiled. “I hope,” he confirmed. “For it is all I’ve ever been given to do. Hope is all that hasn’t been taken from me yet. What say you?”

“I say we shoot, and that it is first the target, then you that I’ll slay tonight.”

He bowed low. “Then may the better man strike first.”

“I will!” the Sheriff snarled, taking up his bow. He turned to the target, and the crowd was silenced immediately. It took longer than it should have for Hess to draw his string and heave off the arrow. 

The crowd held its collective breath as it struck, dead center on the target. 

A nearly mad relief bubbled from Hess in a laugh. “There!” he cried in shrill triumph. “Mend that, you villain!”

All eyes were on him now. He smiled very softly as he stared at the dark target in the distance. “Does she edge toward freedom?” he asked the still night. 

A very deep voice responded. “Aye, as does her mother and her protectors. May our Father have mercy on the souls of those that would do them harm. They are safe, Robyn.”

Hess Kendricks whirled around, in a vain attempt at locating this cryptic messenger. “Who speaks? What?”

Dean felt peace come over him like he had never felt before. “Mend it, you said,” he murmured now, as he nocked his arrow and raised his own loyal bow. “Mend it, I cannot, for it is a perfect strike.”

“Of course it is!” Hess shrieked. 

“And yet you fear that I will, instead, mar it. You should. You should fear me, Hess Kendricks. For I am Robyn of the Hood, and equally am I Dean Loxley, son of John and Mary. And when I’ve marred your mark, I will then mar you, for them that you cheated.” He felt his fingers caress the feathers and breathed out his release. 

Every pair of eyes followed the arrow to its mark, except for Dean’s. He closed his own eyes instead. He had no need to see what he could feel and hear just as well. 

The splintering of the Sheriff’s arrow by Dean’s made every man gasp, and then the cheering began. Even the Sheriff’s own men cried out in excitement. It seemed Hess Kendricks simply did not elicit from his people the same loyalty that Robyn Hood did from his. 

“Impossible!” Kendricks screamed in frustration. “You’ve cheated somehow, as you always have!”

“Always have?” Dean turned to him with fire flashing in his eyes. “Have I? When did I cheat you?”

“Just like a Loxley! Cheats, whores, bastards, commoners! You’re all filthy commoners! Arrest him!”

Dean could feel as much as see Sam prepared to aim his bow against any that would follow that command. 

For a moment, it seemed that a battle would break out after all, but Frere Tuck began to bellow with authority. “This forester is under the protection of a man of God! I defy any of you, many whose own confessions I have heard personally, to lay a hand on this man! Let the Sheriff do so himself, as agreed by the honorable challenge lay before him. If any other moves to touch this forester, it will be at his soul’s own risk, not to mention his life’s.” 

Good brothers, both of them, Dean thought. “Lads, we’ve come to win, and it’s a win that carries us out. Our play is done, and the troupe must bow out, lest the comedy become a tragedy, for these innocent, good people as well as us. Adieu, and good night, honest folk. Robyn and his merry men thank you all for your hospitality, and none grander than that of the Sheriff Kendricks.” 

His laughter carried away the crowd, which broke in chaos around the Sheriff. A group of four painted women hurried to throw themselves in front of the Sheriff, exclaiming loudly that they needed his protection if there were truly bandits among them. Dean cackled at the Sheriff’s frustrated demands that the whores get away from him, and let him pursue the bandit they feared so much before he disappeared. Dean caught the smile of one of the Sheriff’s guards, and marveled as he recognized the smile as belonging to one who had served under him as a soldier. That guard too impeded the Sheriff’s advance quite effectively, by seeming far clumsier than Dean knew him to be. For this man, the name Robyn Hood meant menace, but Dean Loxley meant hero, and he had no intention of letting his new commander slay his former one. 

With a heart full of love and empty of arrows, Dean joined his men in escaping into the nearby wood, into land they knew better than any who would try to pursue them. It might be the King’s Forest, but it was also theirs, and it would protect them with its cover. 

But Dean did not plan to go deep into the wooded land himself. He had made a promise. 

“Dean?”

The others had fled with laughter and triumph leading them. But of course Sam yet remained mere paces from him. Sam always remained. And because of Sam, there was also Castiel. 

“Robyn, you’re being unwise,” the holy man complained sharply. 

But he shook his head. “He will come for me. I’ve damaged his pride. He doesn’t even know what else I’ve took from him yet, but I’ve damaged his pride, and he will come for me. He won’t let me go, not now that he knows who I am, and I will not lead him into our camps where he can cause mischief for the others. They’ve done everything I’ve ever asked of them, and they’ve secured my heart and her mother at great risk to themselves. I promised to mar that villain, and I’ll do so.”

Sam frowned darkly down at him. “Dean-“

Castiel looked exasperated. “Robyn!”

He smiled grimly. “I know better than to tell you both to leave him to me, but I ask you. You must needs watch over Jo and Ellen in the coming weeks, whether I’m there to assist or not. I won’t command it, but I ask it. Brothers, leave me.” 

Castiel snorted, and lifted his sword from its hiding place in his robes. “Command. As though you have any means of commanding me! I am not here to perch on your shoulder as a Mohammadian angel might! I'm here to fight for your soul, you ass.”

Sam surprised him with a laugh. “Again and again, I’ll tell you with delight, come what may, and come what might, Scarlet is truly a brother true, and what Will have I, I give to you. Command me go or beg me stay, my heart guides me, come what may.”

“I presume that means you’re stupid enough to die beside me, in spite of my reasonable request that you do not.”

At last, Sam’s eyes locked with his. “I made a promise too. Hess Kendricks is a villain, and he means harm to my brother. His family killed mine twice, once in hanging my mother, and once in whatever evil brought about the early death of your father. I will not leave while he intends to kill what’s left of my blood. Not when I can yet lift a blade against him.”

Dean nodded. “Thank you for your defiance then, good brothers. I didn’t want to die tonight, now that I think of it.”

Castiel sighed as the brothers laughed, and each of them readied his weapon for battle.


	11. The Fight (Artwork)




	12. Battle

he good Friar could hear the four men crashing through the forest. It seemed an obnoxious cacophony, after having lived part of his life among the true foresters, who made nary a sound while stalking their own prey. It only illustrated further that the Sheriff and his men had no right to storm into the peaceful lands which belonged to the King in worldly means only. This was God’s territory, and so far as Castiel could see, He had left Robyn and his brood to be the guardians of it. No Church could claim more peace than these woods, not when he and Sam lay under the stars together, not when Robyn-once-Loxley played at bows and arrows with his merrymakers, not when wine and beer flowed and laughter was easy. No, this land had nothing to do with a fiend such as Hess Kendricks, nor any that would follow him willingly. It was Castiel’s glimpse of Paradise on earth, and he would fight for it as heartily and fiercely as any of Robyn’s men. Being of the Church has never meant being mild, not for Frere Tuck. God needed soldiers, and not of the sort the Pope claimed. God needed soldiers who would fight for the souls of the people and the land that fed them. Castiel would ever be that soldier, and he ached to be called upon to fight. 

So it was with easy conviction that he swung his sword to catch the one that fell at Dean, to deflect the blow which threatened the life of his earthly master and the will of his Heavenly one. 

Kendricks hissed. “Get back, you tiresome monk! You attack the law? What sort of holy man are you to follow a man like this bandit? What is it that you want?”

Castiel’s disgust was apparent in his gaze; at least, he hoped it was. “The Lord is my Shepherd,” he began in a dangerous voice. His sword readied again, in defense of his flock. “I shall not want.”

The Sheriff growled angrily. “You two! Arrest this friar! I’ll see him hang beside the others. Prior Zachariah can pay for his head if he wants it back!”

“He makes me to lie in green pastures, and I like it there. He leads me beside the still waters, and there I drink.” Castiel advanced upon the two men burdened with the task of bringing him in for the gallows. Whether it was his confidence with his sword or the peril promised in his eyes, these men hesitated in their duty. “He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake, and that I do with revel.”

The men glanced back at their Sheriff with question. 

“Arrest him!” came the shrill command. 

Castiel smiled. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of deaths, I will fear no evil,” he murmured in his deep timbre. “Can you be so sure as I am that you serve the right master? Let us ask mine when we meet Him together.” With this, the Brother raised his sword’s tip to the nose of one opponent, and waited. 

One of the two subordinates dropped his own weapon to the ground and fled without a single word from his lips. The other stared cross-eyed at the blade and froze. “I’m so sorry, Brother,” he whispered desperately. 

The holy man smirked. “Your forgiveness is dependent upon your sincerity, and ‘tis more the business of the great Judge than my own. But for now…” With a movement too fast for the man to react, Castiel whipped his blade around and struck the guard across the temple with the hilt instead. 

The scream of frustration from Kendricks was so satisfying, Castiel pondered whether he might need to do penance for it later. 

Sam’s laughter rang out and burst from the night in eerie echoes. “Then two? Come at me, for I have need of proving myself at least the fighter that handsome brother be!” 

Castiel could hear the moaning of his victim, and he reckoned that he had done his part in evening the field, and so he dropped to his knees to nurse to the stupid man he had just incapacitated. But he prayed his friends would be all right with the two remaining enemies diving at them. 

The Sheriff and his remaining guard rushed the hooded brothers without a bit of care for the one on the ground nearby. Castiel doctored to that man, but desperately followed the action as well, torn between wanting to do what was right in caring for his fallen enemy, and wanting to do what he ached to do in throwing himself between his lover and friend, and those who would harm them. 

Dean was swiping at the last guard with a short blade, his green eyes flashing in fury instead of their usual amusement. “You!” he was snarling. “Your family took my land! It’s why-“ Dean leapt nimbly from the slash of his opponent’s blade. “It’s why you still serve him! Because he and his father gave you-“

“All of it!” the man spat back. “It’s why my own brother is off to kill that wench’s mother right now!”

Castiel recognized the voice now. It was Alexander Arthur, and he had just implicated his brother Ketch Arthur in the attempt on Ellen Harvelle’s life. The men were brutal as their master, Kendricks, and they resided in the hall where Dean had grown up. There was no saving that man from Dean’s wrath, the monk knew.

Dean fumed, and swiped again with his blade. “And my father? John Winchester? What of him?”

“Dead at the hands of Bevell, Hess and my own father Anton. Took three to tear him down. You’re a pale shadow of that hedgeborn lord. I’ll be enough for you!” With that, he struck, and caught Dean’s shoulder, and laughed in triumph. 

The laughter turned to a terrible garble as Dean’s own blade sunk into Alexander’s throat. “That was for my dad, you son of a bitch.”

Dean whirled to find Sam and Hess Kendricks wrestling on the dry forest bed. The bard’s dark hazel eyes were full of madness like Castiel had never seen, as he gained advantage with his weight and brute strength. His teeth were bared, and his hands were positioned about the throat of the Sheriff without mercy. 

But his brother shouted in horror. “Scarlet! Sam, no!” 

Castiel saw what Dean saw, and moved with him from his kneel, like taking flight together, but it was too late. 

The Sheriff’s dagger thrust into Sam’s side up to the hilt. His own gasping release from large hands was drowned out by Sam’s roar of pain. Kendricks gathered his strength back to himself with admirable speed, and flew at Dean with his second dagger in hand. 

Robyn Hood nearly lost his life to the moment spent staring at Will Scarlet’s agony. But before the Sheriff could sink in another fatal blow, he screamed and dropped to his knees. Without ceremony, he slammed, chestdown, into the ground. A long knife protruded grotesquely from his heart through his back. 

Dean looked up from his rival while Castiel dove for Sam. “Who?” he demanded of the dark night around them. “Little Benny? Cesar? Who-“

From the periphery of Castiel’s eye, a pale figure in a white dress and leather boots appeared from the thick wood. 

“Jo,” Dean breathed. 

“Of course, Jo,” she answered in a small but strong voice. “Had you thought I meant to be rescued without seeing that it was done properly?” 

A shaky smile came over Dean, then he was on his knees beside Castiel. “Sam! Sammy?”

“Lady Marian Jo, please take Dean to fetch bandages and whiskey. Go.” Castiel trusted his deep voice to carry his commands, as he trusted his friends to follow them. He held tight to Sam’s sweaty hand as he felt the young lady tug at Dean to get him moving for help. He was grateful for the maid’s strength of character, her ability to get Dean out of the way. 

Sam’s suffering was quiet. He lay on his back on dry leaves, wheezing to breathe, struggling to keep open eyes foggy with pain. “Dean? Is he…”

His lungs were intact, Castiel’s frantic mind assured him. The blade had not punctured them. He was sure of it. And it had not hit his heart, not like Jo’s precise throw had hit the Sheriff’s. Hope lit in the monk’s own pounding heart. “Sam?”

“Scarlet,” the man whimpered. “Only-only in the forest…”

“We’re here, Sam. In your forest. Below your stars and my God. You can be Sam right now.” The hope was fading as quickly as it had come, as inspection of Sam’s wound revealed an abundance of blood leaked from it. Castiel began to breathe too shallowly, and tears of panic filled his eyes. 

“Does Robyn live? I feel I must have been fighting for him, though...though I don’t remember why…Tell me, does he yet live?”

The tears spilled down his full cheeks. “He lives, Sam. Your brother, the hero, he lives. Happily ever after will he live. I promise.”

The tiny smile was marred by blood now, and it terrified the monk to see it. “Happily ever after. It is a nice phrase.” 

Miserable laughter poured from him then. “It’s yours. You may add it to your songs, Scarlet. Please rest. Please. We may yet have that phrase for ourselves, if only you’ll rest. I can fix this.”

“Cas? It isn’t broken.”

His chest tightened mercilessly. “Sam…” he cried. 

“Happily...That was never going to be me, Cas.” The light in the eyes was fading, and they slipped closed. “No rest for the wicked, my love,” he sighed. Blood dripped from his lips, onto Castiel’s cloak. “I’ll let God know you tried.”

Horror came over him, cold as ice, as Sam stilled in his arms. “Sam? Sam! Sam, no!” 

There came no answer in that dark night to the cries of a friar covered in the blood of his rogue.


	13. Legend

he sounds of camp made him smile before he could even open his eyes. He could hear that the Cook was scolding Garth Much the Millerson, and Jesse was scolding the Spaniard who loved him, and he could smell the wine and incense fragrance which followed the friar nearby, and there came soon the laugh of Robyn and Little Benny, so all was well in the land of the woken, it seemed. If it weren’t for a terrific headache and the way parts of him did not want to move when he ordered them to do so, he might think this quite the merry morning.

“Be still,” a female voice commanded, and this got Sam’s attention in earnest.

The words had the opposite of their intended effect, and he startled to a sit with a wail of pain and surprise. A wave of nausea knocked him down again, and he whimpered.

“You don’t take direction much, do you?” The woman sighed. “I suspect that runs in the family. Lord help any grandchildren which might come into the world by way of Dean Loxley!”

Nothing about any of this made sense. But that didn’t seem to matter, since Sam’s shout had apparently brought visitors to burst into his thin tent. Before he knew what was going on, he was being heaved out into the sunlight, blessedly blocked by clouds promising rain and the thickness of the forest canopy.

“He’s awake!” Much was calling. “Our Scarlet is awake!”

Sam blinked at him. “And after you, it seems. What dream world is this, I wonder?”

Dean’s snort came next. “You slept three days. It’s right that Much would awaken eventually in all that time.”

“And good that he did too, as he’s the one who provided the sewing for that wound,” the Cook reminded them all. It seemed that, as much as Bobby gave the young man a hard time, he was not about to let others do the same. Sam liked that about the old Cook, and Garth loved him for it.

Little Benny pawed the young Millerson’s hair. “Saved us having to find a new lute, or having to listen to Andy’s,” he teased. Then he put his hand down to grasp at Sam’s wrist. “Glad you’re going to make it, brother. Scared us.”

Brother. Sam blinked at the group. Brother? “Where is Tuck?”

Most of the others backed away with smiles. The woman he now realized was Ellen Harvelle patted him on the arm gently, and moved to help the Cook with some vegetables, earning herself a look of adoration from the old grouch. Interesting as that was, Sam was still awaiting his own adoring lover.

Dean waved away the rest of them. “Give Scarlet room to breathe before he goes passing out again. Go on. And, Benny, be the messenger to the ascetic at the river, will you? You’re the only one that might be able to lift him if he’s prayed himself to unconsciousness.”

Benny snickered, but hurried on his task.

“Robyn?”

“Your monk has refused all food and drink but rainwater for these few days. Jo is the only one who can make him speak at all, and it is only to ask after you. She’s with him now, sitting in quiet with him while he prays. Ellen has been at your side since the second day, when I became convinced you would make it through. She and Jo made me promise to sleep, and in exchange, they promised not to leave you unattended. I’m glad you’re finally awake, Sam.”

“But what happened? I remember now; we staged a distraction for the theft of Marian Jo, and Benny went to save Ellen from...from Ketch Arthur? Have I got that right? Everything is tangled in my mind, which is pounding badly! Give to me some water while we talk. This is worse than a morning after drinking through a bottle of wine.”

“Wine head rarely comes with a blade in the ribs.”

Sam glanced down at his bandaged side with a scowl. “It does if you’ve drunk the right amount,” he sighed. “But I’ve never had a pub brawl give me three days in a bed before.”

Dean’s voice lowered. “God, Sam. I thought we had lost you. And-and the look on Tuck’s face…He and I never would have healed from your dagger wound, little brother. You...you do feel as though you’re healing proper, don’t you? Garth sewed you up to stop the bleeding, and Bobby and Ellen nursed you. I was useless. I felt helpless.”

He made himself smile for his brother. “I’ll be fitter than you again soon enough. Then Marian Jo will wonder why she chose the highwayman she did.”

Relief lit Dean’s eyes. “Will she? I’ll have Castiel marry us before you fully recover then! I cannot abide her broken heart when she realizes you’ve been taken, and by our officiant himself! Better that she pine from inside our marriage vows than before them!”

“She’s promised to marry you?”

“She has. And I intend to do it as soon as your monk stops sulking for you. I don’t want that she should have too long to think on it. The longer the engagement the less certain the wedding, I think.”

Sam smiled up at him devotedly. “I think you’ve no such worries at all. You are Dean Loxley, son of John and Mary, and the Robyn Hood of legend. What maid could deny her heart such a thing?”

Dean’s face was beaming. “Since she put her father’s knife into the heart of her last betrothed, from twenty paces away, in the dark of night, you can be sure I’ll deny her nothing at all myself.”

“She killed Kendricks? After everything, it was she who did it? Marry her now, Loxley! That woman is a treasure!”

He laughed happily. “I’m trying! But it requires the use of your monk, who has been useless since you were last of any use yourself! So I thank you for awakening so I can at last be married!”

“Where is he? Sam?”

Dean’s smile softened. “There he is now. Reassure him. I will see you at supper, where we will all share stories about the fire, and in the morning, you can sing for my wedding. Will you be able so soon?”

“Strong Robyn of the Hunting Wood, weds his maiden, fierce and good. Surrounded by men, merry and true, may they live and love their whole life through. For loyal Robyn whom we all know, and his reward on earth, sweet Marian Jo, let us drink to them as well we should, to fearless Jo and her Robyn Hood.”

His brother’s eyes were filled with tears, even as he laughed. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Sam.”

It was all he got out before a weeping monk pushed him aside. Benny and Jo exchanged smiles and took Dean away, but Sam had eyes only for Castiel. “You’re crying!”

“Yes, I’m crying!” He wiped at his tears almost angrily. “God worked a miracle for you, and He had to do it through the hands of Garth Much the Millerson! If you think we don’t owe Him a lifetime of gratitude for that trouble He went through-“

Sam stopped him with a kiss. His head was still pounding, and he felt himself giving in to exhaustion, but it was all eased by contact with his lover. He touched their foreheads together at last. “I’m sorry I worried you. I’m going to be all right. And as soon as I can do it, I’m going to make love to you beneath our stars. Will you let me?”

“Always,” he promised within his weeping. “Please don’t leave me. The last few days, I’ve realized I can only work here on earth if you’re at my side. Please don’t leave me. Nothing is worth losing you.”

He kissed him again. “I will never leave you. Even should I die, I would remain outside the gates of your Paradise; perhaps I would climb atop them, and I would await the moment when I could watch you enter. I will always be waiting for you, Castiel.”

“Let us rest now, for we never know what work we will yet have to do tomorrow.”

“Help me heal, Castiel, and I will hold you safe. Ever after, happily.”

Thus continues the legend of Robyn Hood and his men, including a devoted, wayward friar and his faithful, roguish bard, all brothers of a sort, and all lovers of the merry life.


	14. Happily, Ever After (Artwork)




End file.
